The scar was like someone had been in a hurry to get a scoop of ice cream out of the container, like those high school kids who worked behind the counter at Graeter's on a busy August afternoon when the line for black raspberry chip snaked out the door, dug into my abdomen, crooked and jagged with a big chunk missing.
Do they know what they’re lining up for, every morning, first thing, whatever the weather, always the same, as many as twenty deep, winding through the parking lot, tails wagging, tongues flapping, barking at each other, like any other day? When their owners, bleary-eyed and indifferent, checking cell phones, clutching leashes and coffee travel mugs, lead them inside once their number’s called?
It was the first Saturday in December and the annual Santa Sprint, a 5K run to benefit a local ministry. The Olympic Trials it was not. It was a fun-run. It was a fun run – people dressed in red and green, wore festive caps, jingle bells, some brought their dogs nattily attired in plaid sweaters, and dashed, or strolled, down Frankfort Avenue and back before the road was reopened to traffic to release the barrage of Christmas shoppers.